


Elegy From a Failed King

by Nebbles



Category: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Gen, i'm sorry i'm physically incapable of writing anything happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 04:46:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15526350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebbles/pseuds/Nebbles
Summary: Now that the war was over, and Kefka was gone, he could finally let out all the tears he’d been biting back.





	Elegy From a Failed King

It was always cold in the desert at night. Colder still when the bitter air blew through the open windows of Figaro, stinging at Edgar’s eyes. He numbly looked out into the darkness, a hand weakly grasped around an almost empty glass. He’d lost track of how many he’s had, but it wasn’t enough to numb the fact Sabin wasn’t ever coming home.

The smell of soot still pervaded his nostrils, and no matter how many baths he took, it never went away. He could still feel it buried under his nails, buried into his skin. He still remembered where every scrape and cut was on his hand. They all healed, of course, but Edgar swore he could still see them there. Hours and hours of throwing aside ashen beams of splintered wood, somehow, didn’t leave permanent marks. 

In the recesses of his mind, he knew it was a fruitless effort. A part of him wanted to believe Sabin was strong enough to worm his way out of the collapse. That he trained hard enough, long enough, to break his way through the wood and come out alive. That when arriving in Tzen, despite the pained look of silence that everyone wore, he’d be alright. Edgar always thought of Sabin as invincible. That he was stronger than anything. Was he wrong to believe in that? 

At least he was lucky enough to dig out the body. It wasn’t a pretty sight -- a corpse never is -- but it was something to bury. He remembered brushing some ash off his face, weakly asking for Sabin to open his eyes. That it was rude to play pranks on your brother. His hands, covered in splinters and soot, shook Sabin in vain, as if somehow that would restart his heart. Despite knowing the inevitable result, he went and checked for a pulse, only to be met with silence.

No matter how strong you thought someone to be, death tended to be cruel. Death never discriminated against who it took, sinner or saint. It cast its judgment, taking whoever it chose. Selfishly, Edgar wished it would never take him or Sabin. God, at least he would’ve rather gone before Sabin. Edgar hated that a part of him wished Sabin hadn’t gone to save that building from falling. Horrible as that wish was, selfish as it was, it’d mean Sabin would’ve returned to Figaro with him.

Fate thrust him down a different path, however. Now here he was, drinking alone to now-empty promises that would never be fulfilled. He felt as lost as he did when he was younger. Seventeen, ruling a throne he never asked for, watching as Sabin exited the doors of castle Figaro to find his own path. Edgar longed for their reunion, a proper one after the war ended. Where they could sit back and relax, laugh about old times, and strike their glasses together in cheers for the future.

Those days would never come now. Edgar returned to Figaro’s hallowed halls alone. The gasps and cries of the people reverberated as Sabin’s body was shown. The war could stop for just a moment, just for Edgar to bury his body next to Mom and Dad. He numbed himself enough so he wouldn’t cry before everyone else. The funeral came and went, and Edgar said they needed to focus on stopping Kefka. To focus on saving the world. That’s what Sabin would’ve wanted; he wouldn’t have wanted them to stand there, weepy-eyed while the planet continued to rot. 

Now that the war was over, and Kefka was gone, he could finally let out all the tears he’d been biting back. 

“You wouldn’t blame me for crying now, would you, brother?” Edgar downed the rest of his drink, resting his arm against the windowsill. “Tell me, how are Mom and Dad? Are they well?”

Not even the wind whispered to him. 

Edgar could talk to the heavens all he liked, and still no reply would come. He rested his other arm over his other and laid his head against both. Somewhere under the fuzz of alcohol, he faintly wondered what Sabin would think of this all. He wouldn’t be ashamed for the tears, but for the fact he’d shut the others away. That instead of seeking solace from his friends, he was squared away in his room with a half-empty bottle and his thoughts. 

When he’d first left Figaro, Edgar had always faintly wondered in the back of his mind if he’d see Sabin again. That when finally mobilizing against the Empire, he and Sabin would cross paths. He was granted that, and Edgar hoped after all was said and done, the halls of Figaro would be filled with their laughter.

Yet, silence followed. Sure, he could hear voices of his attendants, his people, merchants that resided within the castle. Their voices blended together into meaningless white noise. After hearing enough condolences, enough of the phrase ‘Are you alright, my king?’, he was disinclined to extract their voices from the mire. Sentiments wouldn’t bring back Sabin. They never brought back back his parents, and there was no reason for it to be any different this time. 

Edgar knew how unwell he was, and how unwell he was coping with the situation. He didn’t need a reminder, hidden behind concerned eyes and a gentle touch on his shoulder. Expecting him to be alright was foolish, a wish that would never come true no matter how hard anyone willed it. 

He’d sworn to protect Sabin. At the graves of his parents, Edgar told them he’d ensure Sabin’s safety, a promise for him to live a long, happy life. That, when out seeing the world, Sabin would be happy and healthy - alive. And he’d come back alive. Air in his lungs, light in his eyes, skin unmarred by ash and blood. Even if the circumstances were something out of his control, failure bogged down his entire body. The last promise he made to his father was now lost in the wind, never to return. What a failure, he was - as a king and brother. A king looked out for his subjects, and a brother looked out for his siblings. In a single night, he had failed to do both. 

Was his father right to trust him? Edgar had failed him so, so terribly. He had ensured so much to Edgar, and they slipped through his fingers like the sands of the desert he’d given his life to rule.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, knowing there was no one around to hear him. All he could pray is that the wind carried his drunken apology to his parents, and that they’d forgive him for losing Sabin.

He hoped, that one day, Sabin would forgive him too.

**Author's Note:**

> _If time ran out in the damaged building in Tzen, instead of a standard Game Over, Sabin was planned to be caught in the collapse and die. Bringing Edgar to the site would make him spend all night trying to dig out his brother, even though too many in-game days have passed after the fact. This was altered partly due to being too dark. ___


End file.
